Belewe Moon

As Gregory’s monks chanted—
their glorious notes rising, high,
you unveiled yourself
in the sunless Paschal sky.

Your indigo eye peeked in
a leaded window.

Awe-struck, they bowed their heads,
singing soft into their sackcloth breasts,
“Kyrie Eleison”.

Kat Mortensen©2012

Advertisements

NaPoWriMo: Day ? Confessions of an inconsistent poet

So, this whole NaPoWriMo thing has gotten off to a bad start for me. With the start of the challenge coinciding with the Easter weekend, I have had little to no time to sit and really think about poetry or writing at all.

Both my husband and I are members of our church choir and Easter Weekend for us began last Wednesday with an all-or-nothing rehearsal. This was followed by singing at a mass on Thursday evening.

The weekend itself consisted of choral accompaniment to three services for the Triduum: Good Friday at 3:00 p.m., Easter Vigil on Saturday at 8:00 p.m. and Sunday morning at 11:00 a.m. Needless to say, we have sung more than our share of Alleluias.

All this is to tell that I may need some time to either catch up with the NaPoWriMo challenge, or jump in at this point. I’ll have to see.  I have not ruled out a graceful exit altogether, if the poetic muse has indeed left the building.

In the meantime, I have just about managed to keep things on an even keel over at “My Life In Runes”, so if you enjoy quirky haiku, high-tail it over there and check it out!

Thanks for reading, and a belated Happy Easter to all!

Kat

Easter High – Post-Easter Low

Easter was wonderful!  It was full of joyful song and camaraderie, and family and friends.  It was good food, the resumption of my chocolate addiction and some outdoor expeditions.

Now, I am very tired, uninspired and seemingly brain-dead.

Had a dental appointment today and everything checked out just fine. I’m sure that now my hygienist thinks I’m completely loony, since I wanted to photograph her dental instruments after the cleaning.

If the gears get going soon, you may see a Mag poem, or a very belated Thursday Think-tank before long, but no promises at the moment.

Oh, and come THIS Thursday night, I’ll be reading two of my pieces at the local Wordfest. Any suggestions as to which I should read?

Kat

The Choir

My church, St. Mary Immaculate, is a small country parish and we are a small choir, but we give it our all! Our director, Nicole, pushes us to be our best and we strive to accomplish this for the glory of God. A most uplifting few days awaits.

 Singing this tonight:


and also this:






From my home to yours,


Happy Easter, one and all!

Two Poems For the Real Easter





Triduum Triolets

Triduum Triolet I (2009)

When the season’s over I’ll be glad;

Though He died, for me, it’s you who’s dead.

These three days I know I should be sad—

When the season’s over I’ll be glad.

If I hear that hymn I’ll feel so bad;

Your voice, the one that sings, “O ‘Sacred Head”

When the season’s over I’ll be glad;

Though He died, for me, it’s you who’s dead.

Triduum Triolet II (2012)

When the season comes, I shall rejoice

Now I am to sing, and years have flown.

To Passion and  to Victory, I’ll give voice—

When the season comes, I shall rejoice.

I will sing that hymn again, by choice;

Though the one, your voice will ever own.

When the season comes, I shall rejoice;

Now I am to sing, and years have flown.

Kat Mortensen©2012 Protected by Copyscape DMCA Takedown Notice Checker

Brain Drain

Click image for Flickr source.

Ever have one of those days where you just have no idea what you are doing?  It’s as if the synapses in my brain are twitching, but then they’re sparking out.

I have an impulse to create a poem, but no words or thoughts with which to complete that idea.

Every time I leave the screen I’m on with the intention of going to look at something else on line, I completely forget what it was I seeking in the first place.

I wanted to write a Sepia Saturday post, but it’s looking like it might end up being a Sepia Sunday or even Monday, at this rate!

I wanted to sort out my genealogy archives. The hard copies I’m preparing to transfer to another site because my Ancestry.ca membership is about to expire and  I cannot afford to pay for another year’s subscription (to the tune of $299.00). The problem is, I’ve misplaced my notes for my mother’s side.

I’ve been reading and thoroughly enjoying, Bram Stoker’s, “Dracula”, so I think I’ll just get back to that for now and let my brain have a breather.

Oh, did I mention, I’m also learning the Latin hymn, “Ubi Caritas” for our upcoming Easter Choir performances? That’s a bit taxing on the old synapses too.

Not our choir!

What a tool!

Came across these instructions on the blog of a Twitter-mate of mine, Mo Hurley.  Her blog, Litterata, has been around as long as mine and it deserves to be seen by more people.  If you get a minute, pop by and tell her I sent you.

pick a tool, make that the title of your poem, and write your poem. There are the more obvious tools, of course: hammer, screwdriver, wrench, etc. But there also less obvious tools and/or specialized tools available as well. Before attacking this poem, you may want to just think about the various possibilities first. Or just write.

PLIERS

Daddy used to say,

We’ll just tie your tooth to the doorknob

With this dental-floss and slam the door.

I balked, of course (knowing the implications)

Wrenched from its tiny roots

The shoots of pain would be unbearable

In such a small mouth as mine.

He fancied himself Doc Holliday,

I imagine.

Once, he forced a pliant wire

From an eggs-for-Easter kit,

(The octagonal end didn’t fit)

Down my throat,

Thinking he could shift

The bit of something

Lodged by my uvula,

And when I gagged,

On that Lifesaver (how ironic!)

He shoved a piece of bread

In there—without a care,

For my tears, or fears, or years.

He always knew best.

(At least he never used

The pliers.)

 

Kat Mortensen©2010 
Page copy protected against web site content infringement by Copyscape